


Come Home to Me

by atari_writes



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel, Netflix's Marvel
Genre: F/M, Fluff, No Smut, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 15:59:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11360757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atari_writes/pseuds/atari_writes
Summary: Frank comes home to you a little more beat up than usual and you get emotional.





	Come Home to Me

A thundering knock jolts you from sleep. You groan and push the fuzzy blanket off your bare legs to stumble off of the couch where you’d been waiting for your boyfriend to get home. You must have fallen asleep waiting. 

Another knock comes from your front door and you groan, pulling your cardigan tighter around you at the sudden chill in the air. “Coming, coming,” you mutter. You blink the sleep out of your eyes and swing the door open as quickly as possible just to stop the awful knocking. 

Frank stands in the doorway, a beanie covering his head and his hood shadowing his face. “Oh, thank god,” he mutters, walking into the apartment quickly and pulling you into his arms. 

You grunt at the sudden movement, and he pulls away almost as quickly, shutting the door behind him and sliding the deadbolt home. He rounds on you, his relief forgotten. “Why the hell didn’t you answer your phone?”. He grips you tight by your arms, holding you back to inspect you. 

You frown at him, sleep still making you a little fuzzy. “Why didn’t you use your key?" 

"Forgot it. I called you, but you didn’t answer.” His gruff tone softens a bit. “I was worried about you." 

You sigh. You didn’t mean to worry him. You knew how paranoid he got when he left you home alone. "Frank, I–” you finally catch a good look at his face and you gasp. “Frank! Oh my god, baby.” You reach up and gently pull his hood back and off his bruised and bloody face. He usually came back to you worse than when he went out, but this was the worst you’d seen in a long time. 

You run a thumb underneath a cut on his face and he tries not to wince, but you see it. “What the hell happened to you?" 

He gently grabs hold of your wrist and pulls your fingers off his cheek. "Nothin’ you need to worry about,” he says gruffly, pushing past you to grab your first aid supplies. 

"Frank–“ You grab his arm and he stops dead, flinching out of your grip. Your heart breaks. You hate seeing him like this–so desperate to stay strong while he’s in so much pain. You grab the sleeve of his jacket to keep him from stalking off again, and slowly walk back in front of him. You slide your fingers up until you reach the jacket’s zipper. "Let me help you, baby. It’s what I’m here for." 

He stares at you, searching your eyes for something. He finally sighs and nods. "Sorry." 

You give him a small smile and push up to your toes to kiss his cheek. "I love you,” you say gently. He just nods at you. He doesn’t say it, and you don’t need him to. Not after what he’s gone through. You slowly unzip his jacket and push it off his shoulders, careful not to jostle him unnecessarily. “Is anything broken, or is it just your face that took a beating?" 

He shrugs out of the jacket and let’s it drop to the floor. He shakes his head. "My face got the worst of it." 

You sigh and cup his cheeks in your hands, studying his injuries. His brown eyes watch yours as they scan him. Dark bruises are already forming under both of his eyes, he has a few shallow cuts on his cheeks–from rings, probably–and one large laceration on the curve of his cheekbones. Not to mention the extensive bruising to his jawline and up through his hair. You sigh. "You got somethin’ against putting your hands up, handsome?" 

The corner of his mouth quirks up. "If I did that, I’d be the pretty one in this relationship, and then where would that put you?" 

You smack his chest. "You’re awful, Frank Castle.” He laughs once, a rich, deep sound, and you crave more of it. But you always crave more of his happiness. You pat his cheek and smile. 

“Go sit at the table. I’ll grab the kit.” He nods and pulls off his shirt as he walks to your kitchen table, and you stifle a gasp. 

His back is covered in dark, splotchy bruises. Some more recent ones–from tonight, probably–are still red and irritated-looking. You shake your head and hurry into the bathroom, suddenly overcome with rage. He was so goddamn reckless sometimes. If he was more careful, he could probably avoid half his injuries. It made you furious. You slam the counter door open and yank the kit out, letting the cabinet slam shut. Matt probably didn’t come home looking like a human piñata, so why did Frank? 

You stalk back out to the kitchen and slam the kit on the table. He looks up at you in surprise, then scans your face, trying to see if you were upset or angry. “Any stab wounds tonight?” you ask, pulling on latex gloves. 

He shakes his head, still trying to decipher your sudden change in mood. You grab the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and get to work cleaning the scratches on his face. You’re stand next to his chair, and he tentatively reaches a hand out to rest on the back of your thigh. Not to move it, but just to hold you. Little things like that were the ways he showed you he did love you–always touching you, or checking in with you every time he left at night. Usually it made you feel good; he really cared about you. 

But right now it just fueled your anger. “How can you be so goddamn reckless?” You can feel his eyes on your face, but you keep cleaning the long cut on his cheekbone. 

"What are you talkin’ about?“ 

You grab some more gauze and swipe some hydrogen peroxide onto it before roughly cleaning the bottom of the cut. He winces and tries to pull back, but you hold him still with a hand to the back of his head. "I’m talking about this. And your back?” You jab a finger at healing scar on his side. “I’m talking about the knife wound from last week.” You throw down the gauze and cross your arms, now fighting tears. “I’m talking about you getting fucking shot, Frank!" 

He catches sight of your tears slowly running down your face, and he shifts his legs so his knees are spread and you’re standing between them. "Oh, baby.” His hands gently cup your waist, and he rubs his thumbs in soothing circles on your stomach. “You don’t to be worryin’ about me." 

You try to step out of his arms but he holds you tighter and pulls you forward a few steps until he has to lean his head back to look you in the eye. You bite back a fresh wave of tears and set your hands on his shoulders. "Frank, how am I supposed to not? You’re out there killing people and fighting for your life, and you aren’t even being smart about it!" 

He looks at you helplessly, like he doesn’t know what to say to comfort you, because he knows it’s true. "I can’t take this Frank–I need you to care what happens to you.” You’re sobbing now, barely getting the words out. “I need you to come home to me, because I don’t think I’d survive if you didn’t." 

He squeezes your hips, then scoots forward to the edge of his chair. He gently puts his forehead against your stomach, then moves his hands down to rest against the backs of your thighs. He holds them, then starts to run his hands up and down. "I’m sorry, Y/N." 

You tangle your hands in his hair and listen to the deep rasp of his voice over your stifled sobs. "I’m sorry that I didn’t think about how you were feeling.” He sniffs. His voice is a little shaky. “And I’m sorry I’m so reckless. It’s so much easier for me to take care of you than it is to take care of myself, and I’m so, so sorry baby. I haven’t had someone care about me in a long time." 

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to get control of your emotions. You tug gently on his hair to get him to look at you. "I need you to be careful.” He nods, the dim light of the kitchen reflecting off the tear tracks on his cheeks. “I need you to come home to me." 

He nods again and stands up suddenly, pulling your face to his. He kisses you through his tears and your sobs, and he promises to come home.


End file.
